


That Damned English Black Ice

by wemadguys



Series: Fictober 2020 [5]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Episode: s03e08 Death Do Us Part, F/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26885038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wemadguys/pseuds/wemadguys
Summary: Leave it to Phryne to mean such a grand invitation literally as well as metaphorically, "come after me" playing the dual role of promise and dare. He's never been a daring man, but more than that he is a serious one.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Series: Fictober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952428
Comments: 13
Kudos: 79





	That Damned English Black Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Fictober day five prompt: "unacceptable, try again."
> 
> Jack and phryne meeting up on a train platform is just so...atmospheric. I had to write it.

He spots her right away.

The platform is crowded, but she is a vision in black, arms crossed tightly in front of her to guard against the harsh London winter. Her eyes anxiously scan the crowd billowing out from the train’s second-class cars, not knowing that his ticket had been unexpectedly upgraded. He can scarcely believe that he is the reason for the furrow in her brow, sure that when she finally sees him the expression will remain in place—that what she seeks lies beyond him, out on the horizon somewhere.

Leave it to Phryne to mean such a grand invitation literally as well as metaphorically, “come after me” playing the dual role of promise and dare. He’s never been a daring man, but more than that he is a serious one. It’s taken 67 days on four ships and two trains, but he’s here; he’s traveled the world over to give her nothing short of everything. And over weeks spent doing naught but watching dark waves churn in open waters, he has made peace with himself and his choices.

When she finally sees him, her face transforms into a smile that is meteoric. He grips his old, weather-beaten case more tightly in his hands and allows himself to follow its orbital pull. As his feet speed up so does his breathing; he is so overcome he cannot be sure what he will do when he gets to her. He wants to rest his forehead against hers and simply bask in her nearness, wants to take her in his arms and kiss the thoughts from both their heads, wants to grasp her hand and let her pull him back into the shadows they walk so well together.

His mind will not settle on any one action, wanting them all equally and at once as he closes in on her. When he is mere feet from where she stands, however, his feet suddenly slip out from under him and the world spins as he is knocked backward onto the hard ground.

He inhales sharply in pain—both from the fall and from the cold seeping through his clothes. When he has the presence of mind to glance up, he sees her rushing toward him, the furrow firmly in place once more.

When she is directly above him, he says the only words running through his mind: “All anyone on ship could talk about for weeks was this damned English black ice. How much there is. How many mothers never walked again after falling victim to it.” He glances up at her with a sarcastic half smile. “And yet apparently, the lesson did not sink in.”

He is not prepared for the sight of her face at so close a distance, his self-pity sliding off of him almost instantly. She is so beautiful against the gray afternoon. He finds himself mesmerized by the sight of her breath puffing out from between fiery painted lips, by the iridescent glow of her skin.

She appears almost bewildered as she stares down at him, shaking her head as if searching for words. “Unacceptable,” she breathes out at length.

“What?” he asks, confused, as she reaches a hand out to him. He quirks a smile at the sight and allows her to pull him to his feet.

Now that they stand together less than an arm’s length apart, she nods at him firmly. “Try again.”

A sense of inadequacy pokes at him as he scrambles to catch on to her meaning. "I-I'm sorry?"

Her face is unusually solemn as she says, "one does not greet the person they've crossed oceans to see with a pitiful rant about the weather." Smiling slightly, she takes a step closer. His travel-weary bones, shot through with ice, begin to melt. "It's bad etiquette."

In his relief, Jack lets out a quick laugh that borders on manic. Her answering smile is equal parts sweet and smug and it warms him further.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, "I'm afraid I missed that chapter of the book."

"Lucky for you then, Jack, that I'm a benevolent sort willing to offer a second chance."

"I always knew you were an exceptional woman."

She looks pleased by his words and then gestures toward him generously. "Well, don't keep me waiting, inspector."

Don't keep her waiting. All he's done is keep her waiting, retreating into himself and his pride time and again.

He reaches three cold fingertips to her equally icy cheek, allowing all his regret and unfettered ardor to bleed into her skin through the barest, most reverent of brushes. She takes a fortifying breath at the touch and meets his eyes. There's something dark and heavy in her gaze, almost a dare. _Is that the best you can do?_

Sighing and moving to cup her whole face in his palm, he lowers his forehead to hers. "Phryne, I..." Jack says.

"Yes, Jack?" She answers in a high, shaking voice.

"I," he repeats, pulling back slightly and moving his mouth to her ear. His voice is a whispering rasp as he says, "...I think it's way too bloody cold here."

When he pulls back to look at her, the frown on her face is thunderous, it's everything—it's the miles he's traveled, the cracking in his knees, the breath in his lungs. _I fear my soul hath her content so absolute..._

His own face is all smug satisfaction, he's sure, and she is thoroughly unimpressed by him. After a moment, she casually says, "you know, the slightest push to your shoulder at the right moment and you'd be falling onto these tracks and crushed beneath a train in the time it takes me to apply my lipstick."

He chuckles. "And with the world's best detective behind the crime, I can forget about justice."

"I'd argue, Jack, that it _would_ be justice." 

He purses his lips. "Fair enough," he considers. Feeling reckless, feeling like there is nothing left but to move forward with her, he wraps his hand around the back of her neck, stroking the nape, pulling her closer, and zeroing in on her lips. "I do pity the man who gets on your bad side."

"Quite right, Inspector," she breathes when his mouth is an inch from hers, "which is why you need to wa--"

He closes the gap completely then, leaving a playful, impatient kiss on her upper lip.

Never one to be outdone, Phryne responds immediately, throwing her arms around his neck in abandon and opening her mouth to his.

It's a release to finally be kissing her like this, with no hurt pride or fears between them. This is what he's come all this way for—so that they may finally give themselves over to joy and joy alone.

Lord knows they could use it.

They continue to exchange slow, deep, cathartic kisses on the crowded platform. They stand like that long enough that his neck begins to tire, so he wraps his arms around her back and lifts her off the ground. She tears her mouth from his at that and lets out the freest laugh he's ever heard. 

When she wrenches his head back down to her with surprising force a moment later, he assumes it is out of desire to continue their exultant kiss. He is shocked, then, when she uses her new leverage to wrap both her legs around his hips. 

He smiles against her mouth—he can't not. Their kisses grow shallow as he (as ever) decides to follow her lead, placing one hand on her arse for support and debonairly spinning them in a circle. 

They're both laughing by the time he makes it all the way round and continue to do so as he lowers her carefully back onto solid ground.

"Be careful with moves like that, Jack," she says a moment later between still-laboured breaths, "or people might think us lovesick fools."

Something breaks in him at the notion that they might be anything but, and he has to scramble to hold onto the light feeling inside him. Has he misread the signs? Is this nothing but a lark to her?

She, however, appears serene. Gaze open and tender, she reaches for him, grasping his calloused hand in her own. And like a valiant knight making declarations to his damsel, she lifts their joined hands and presses a long, sweet kiss to his knuckles. 

It is her apology, he knows. And her promise. And her dare.

After a moment, she intertwines their fingers and tugs on his arm, beginning to lead them away. Turning her head toward him with an impish smile, she speaks.

"Come with me, love—I have so much to show you."

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
